Thicker than Water (Marauders Era) PART II

8 August, 1995 - Forgiveness

Lavinia had no idea where she planned to go when she left the kitchen. And, as she supposed was utterly predictable for her, she settled for the nearest she could get to the stars. Without leaving the house, that was because though part of her very much wanted to just be... elsewhere. Another part of her knew full well that this was not the time to run. Not that that had ever stopped her before, but... well. It was, she supposed, as good a time as any to learn from old mistakes.

When she reached the top of the steps, she found Buckbeak's attic room to be as musty a place as ever, smelling of hay and feathers and an undefinable sort of scent Lavinia usually associated with the butcher's shop. All this to say, it didn't smell very pleasant at all. But that small circular window still opened up to the sky and the stars were still some small comfort, as they always had been. But that comfort was indeed small. Because, of course, the view was so very limited. Because there was still glass and walls between her and those handful of stars she could see. Because these walls were restrictive and claustrophobic and Lavinia realized rather suddenly that this was likely part of what had been so getting to Sirius these past several days.

She couldn't imagine it, really, stuck in the same house. This house that he hated. Stuck in these walls that were old and molding and with so few windows to let the light in. Stuck here to stew and to dwell. And she realized rather suddenly, she had left him here. True she hadn't felt good about it but... but she had left. She had run. And in her wake had been Sirius. Unable to go anywhere or do anything. Stuck. And undoubtedly angry about it because... well because he had spent twelve years in a prison already. In living hell. With four walls to keep him in and no sun and no stars and no sky. And here he was again. In a different prison with different walls and different hells. But still trapped. Still locked up.

And she hadn't thought so very much about it. Hadn't fought to change it because she couldn't. She still couldn't. But... well but surely something could be done. Some small thing to keep these walls from feeling permanent. To keep this house from feeling like just another punishment. Another sentence for crimes he had never committed in the first place.

And even if she couldn't change it, even if there was nothing at all she could do and not even any small work around... she could have - and should have - at least been there for him. To talk to. To remind him that these walls were not those walls. That the memories this house dragged up were just that: memories. That no dementors lurked here to force him to relive them over and over and over again. To just... help him. And she was realizing now that that was exactly what she should be doing. What she should have been doing this whole time: helping him. Because he needed it.

Assuming, that was, that he would consent to let her help him in the first place.

Because at the moment... well at the moment they were in a more than slightly precarious position. And Lavinia supposed that it should have been worse than it was, really. Because she should have hated him more for the things he'd said. For that row they had had with both of them crossing lines that should have been impossible to step across.

Because he had hurt her. Badly.

And yet.

And yet, Lavinia rather thought she knew why. Because this house, the isolation, the incapacitation, all of it, had been weighing on him. And because she had been there, an easy target. Someone to point a finger at. And in some ways, he was right. If things had gone differently, if she had taken Harry in, they wouldn't be in this situation. But things hadn't gone differently. She hadn't taken Harry in. And the past was the past so... so that was that.

But, she supposed, it wasn't quite so easy for him to accept that. Because the past she could so easily dismiss had been twelve years in hell for him. Twelve years as an innocent man sentenced without trial. Without justice. Twelve years to let it all fester and rot and for the hate and rage to grow and settle and take root. And instead of helping him as she had promised to do, instead of standing by his side and reminding him that it was over, that he was out and he was free and he was never going back... she had left. She had let her own problems wrap around her until all she could see was her pain. Her fear. Her hell. And she had left Sirius alone with no one to notice the hurt or the rage or the pain. With no one to turn to.